


Hikaeme na Hajime

by amporasbitch



Category: Markiplier RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I mean c'mon it's Yan's birthday, I'm not that mean, Implied Violence, M/M, Near Death Experience, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 20:15:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12712194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amporasbitch/pseuds/amporasbitch
Summary: From Yandereplier's first days of life to today, the birthday he almost didn't live to see.





	Hikaeme na Hajime

**Author's Note:**

> Ah yes, Yandereplier. My favorite boy, my reason for living, my beautiful son whom I love, my-
> 
> But yeah, I had to write something for his birthday. Even if it's angsty as heck. But you read the tags, you already know what's up.
> 
> Anyhow, I better let you start reading this dang long-ass fic. Enjoy!

It doesn’t take long for Yandereplier to form. His character has already been perfectly established through Mark’s previous videos; the skit simply puts a face to a name, a body to a personality. Once the video goes live, it’s only a matter of time before the fans roll with the concept, drawing and writing and editing. Within hours, Yandereplier is fully formed.

But he isn’t quite where he’s supposed to be.

He’s not in Ego Inc., or near it, or even in Los Angeles at all. He’s close to the city, but too far away from Ego Inc. to feel its magical pull, the thing that attracts every new figment of Mark’s there. Yandereplier knows who he is, what he is, and who is original is, and almost nothing else. He doesn’t know if there’s any others like him, or where they might be. He isn’t sure where to go.

So, for a month, he wanders.

He traverses the area with nothing but his schoolgirl uniform and katana. He knows how to use it, which is fortunate, because before long, he has to. It doesn’t take him long to find Los Angeles, and the city is dangerous. He knows his appearance differs slightly from his original, feminine outfit aside: His body is slightly shorter, form a little slighter, pretty like a boy from a shoujo anime. He’s seen as an easy target, a spoiled schoolkid who might be carrying something worth stealing, a weakling that an angry or unstable person can take their frustration out on, or a pretty piece of meat that can be dragged behind an alley for an hour of awful pleasure. Of course, no one who tries to hurt him ever gets far; Yandere’s stronger than most humans, he knows how to kill and he enjoys doing it. He doesn’t lose a single fight someone else picks, but there are many, many fights. He gets bruised, scraped, cut. His uniform gets scuffed up, dirty, torn. He gets weaker. The constant fights take their toll, and Yandere isn’t nearly as good as stealing food as he is at killing. He takes whatever cash he can get off those he kills, but it’s barely enough to keep from starving. He sleeps where he can, but it’s never restful. His mind never completely quiets, constantly afraid of ambush, of one more person coming to do Yandere harm.

Three weeks into the month, Yandere wakes up one morning and realizes he can see the ground through the tips of his fingers.

He knows enough about what he is to know what it means, and it terrifies him. Could this really be his destined existence? Doomed to wander around for a while before being forgotten, never finding a place he belongs or people who care? For god’s sake, never finding his senpai?? Somewhere deep down he knows he’s getting closer. Closer to what, he doesn’t know, but he finally begins to enter Ego Inc.’s magical radius, even if he doesn’t realize it. Something in his gut tells him where he has to go, but he doesn’t know if he has enough time. He deteriorates quickly, going from transparent fingertips to full-body flickering in a week. Symptoms set in, fever and shivers and fatigue, but Yandere presses on. Except now, he has to take the quiet routes, the roads least traveled, lest a human see him and wonder why he’s flashing in and out of reality like a malfunctioning hologram. People still find him, though, dangerous people. He still kills them, but it’s harder now that he’s sick, now that he’s fading, and he starts getting hurt more. Tired though he is, he stops being able to sleep; too worried about being spotted, too worried about how people are forgetting him, too worried about never waking up again.

Of course, the whole month he’s walking around Los Angeles, the other egos are trying to find him, but they hardly know where or how to look. There’s only so far they can search, only so much their magic and reality-bending can do. But still they search, and eventually, the paths cross.

It happens as Yandere wanders across a park one night. The place is, amazingly, deserted, and though there’s activity out in the nearby street, Yandere’s far enough away that he’s confident no one will spot him walking between streetlamps, following his internal compass. He aches from a fight earlier in the day on top of everything else, and the flickering is worse than ever. He’s ever alert, but the night is peaceful, and Yandere can see the moon and stars above it. Maybe it’s a leftover trait from his original, but he can’t help but find a kind of joy in the night sky, in its grandness, its hugeness. He finds himself looking up instead of straight ahead as he walks, and he’s beginning to feel something like security when he hears footsteps up ahead.

He stiffens momentarily, resisting the urge to take out his katana. After all, whoever it is might not want to hurt him, they might just be passing through. Maybe if Yandere ignores them, they’ll ignore him back. He keeps walking, no longer staring at the sky but straight ahead, listening. He begins to hear the person talking, muttering to themself, voice deep and smooth and flowing in a way that seems to leave little room for breath. Once the person gets closer, Yandere sees a man a head taller than himself, with a golden streak peeking through slicked-back dark hair. His form is concealed by a tan trench coat, his eyes are concealed by a worn-out bandage. Yandere can tell just by the sight of him that he’s a figment, too, the same way he can tell that the other people he’s seen are humans. The figment stops walking as he nears Yandere, and even though his eyes are covered, Yandere feels like he’s looking at him. He finds himself halting as well, despite his nerves. Then the figment speaks, with the same strange voice, eloquent and practiced and flowing like a river.

“You’re a new figment, aren’t you?” he asks.

Yandere startles. He’s never met another figment before, but he has no hope for this going any better than his encounters with people. Humans are easy to fight. As a figment, even a brand-new, near-faded one, he’s much stronger than most of them. But up against another figment? In the state he’s in, he’s doomed to lose. If this figment wants to fight, Yandere has no doubt he’ll be slaughtered. Even if the figment doesn’t wish to kill him permanently, who knows if his fading form will survive long enough to come back to life?

So Yandere starts walking again, quicker this time, too keyed up to even give a response. As he speeds past the other figment, the man speaks again. But his voice is different this time, still smooth and fluid but now edged with power, a quiet rumbling tone.

“Yandereplier slows down and stops walking. He turns around and walks back to the Host, and this time stays put.”

Yandere’s heart jumps up into his throat as his body obeys the figment—the Host’s—commands against his will.

“What _was_ that? And how do you know my name??” he can’t help but ask as his feet plant themselves in front of the Host.

“The Host apologizes for using his power on you, but he didn’t want you to leave,” the Host says, “He and many others have been looking for you. We’ve been expecting a new figment for a month now, and the Host noticed that you look like the one we’re searching for.” He smiles a little. “It seems the Host was right, since your name is in fact Yandereplier.”

“Others…?” Yandere asks, wary. A part of him lurches with emotion, thinks these might be the people he belongs with, but a much bigger part of him is skeptical, paranoid, nervous from all his time on the streets. He was never sane to begin with, but between the constant danger he’s faced and the sickness fading has brought on, Yandere’s near to the point of breaking.

“The rest of Mark’s figments,” the Host clarifies, “We call ourselves his egos. Mark Fischbach is your original too, correct?”

“I…yeah…” Yandere says, but then shakes his head. “I shouldn’t be admitting that, I shouldn’t be telling you anything!” he cries, “How do I know you aren’t tricking me??” Yandere can’t see any similarity between his appearance and the Host’s, and for all Yandere knows, the Host is only trying to lull him into a false sense of security so he can strike. The Host, for his part, seems surprised by Yandere’s question, and it takes him a moment to answer.

“You must be feeling a pull towards somewhere,” he begins, “A sense of where you’re supposed to go, of where you need to be. The place where the Host and the other egos live, Ego Inc., isn’t far from here. The Host can feel it pulling at him now. Can you?”

“You…” Yandere starts, “How do you know so much about me??” It’s unnerving to him, having this other, clearly more powerful figment telling everything Yandere knows about himself back to him. If he was right in the head he’d recognize by now what he’s found, but he’s too far gone to expect kindness from anyone now, having gotten nothing but hurt from every person he’s met.

“Because we have the same original,” the Host says, a little confused by Yandere’s behavior, “The Host saw the video you appeared in, and so did the rest of Mark’s egos. We knew to expect you, and we’ve been looking for you, so you could come to Ego Inc.” He clearly hadn’t expected getting Yandere to come with him to be so difficult.

“I’m not going anywhere with you!!” Yandere yells, eyes shifting from their normal brown into violent red, “I can’t trust you! I can’t trust _anyone!!_ ”

“Yandere—” the Host starts, taking a step towards him.

“ _No!_ ” Yandere cries, unsheathing his katana and holding it out in front of him as warning, “Don’t come near me!”

“Yandere, please,” the Host says, making his voice gentle, “The Host is trying to help you.”

“How do I know??” Yandere practically screams, “No one’s ever tried to help me! Everyone I’ve met in this stupid city wants to hurt me!” Tears start running down his face, and he has to keep a white-knuckled grip on his katana to keep it from slipping through his flickering fingers. “You’re lying! You have to be! _Leave me alone!!_ ”

“The Host is not going anywhere,” the Host says, frowning, “And he does not intend to offend, but he does not believe that you are in any condition to reject his help.”

And the Host is right. Yandere’s grip on his katana is starting to tire already, and if he loosens it even a little he knows the sword will fall right through his fingers. In his agitated state, his heart is beating too fast, and every injury on him begins to ache. He feels light-heated, both from not having properly eaten in a while and from the fever coursing through him. It’s not a terribly cold night, but Yandere begins to shiver. Yet he still holds his katana out in front of him, and the Host seems to know that the younger figment will use it if he comes any closer. He seems unwilling to agitate him further or use his power against him again.

“Just go _away,_ ” Yandere growls, but his voice is weaker now, “Go away, or…or I’ll kill…”

“Yandere,” the Host says, worry clouding his features.

“I’ll kill you,” Yandere mutters, barely audible, “Go…”

It’s then that everything he’s experienced pushes his body to the breaking point, when the pain and stress and fear finally pull him under. His katana slips out of his grasp and the world, all at once, goes dark.

~~~

He half-wakes up in someone’s arms, and his heart stutters with fear. He struggles, kicking and beating the chest of whoever’s holding him, but it’s a token effort, and he can hardly move at all with fatigue like lead in his limbs.

“Let me go,” he tries to yell, but it comes out wavering and quiet.

“Hush,” says a familiar voice, “The Host is not going to hurt you.”

Yandere still doesn’t quite believe him; his mind is too cloudy to think the situation through. But he can recognize well enough that the Host’s arms carrying him are, at least, not hurting him currently. He realizes he’s experiencing the only kind touch he’s received since he was first created.

It’s…nice.

Before a minute’s passed, Yandere has slipped back under.

~~~

“…and I carried him back here. I’m sure he would’ve found us sooner or later, considering how close he was.”

“Probably, but it’s good you found him when you did, he’s in pretty bad shape. Not only is he fading, but just giving him a cursory glance I can tell he’s covered in injuries, mostly old ones, and I’d hazard a guess that he hasn’t properly eaten since he was made.”

Yandere wakes up much more slowly the second time, unable to move or open his eyes at first, barely comprehending the voices talking around him.

“He said…he said something about how no one’s ever wanted to help him before.”

“Poor thing. No wonder he freaked out so bad when you approached him.”

“I admit I could’ve handled it better. I think I overwhelmed him a bit.”

“It’s not like you meant to scare him. Either way, he’s here now, and that’s what counts.”

Yandere begins to realize he’s on a couch, covered by a blanket. Whatever room he’s in is pleasantly warm.

“I just can’t believe he’s being forgotten so soon. Only a month and they’re already moving on. Those fans of Mark’s are so _fickle._ ”

“Of course they are. They don’t know there’s real, living beings at stake here. I know it’s hard, but you can’t get too mad at them, Host.”

“What about you, Doctor? You’re the one who has to watch them all die.”

“I’m not watching Yandere die if I can help it. Can you go get the others, let them know you found him? I’ll stay with him, keep an eye on him for when he wakes up.”

“Sure, I’ll be back soon. And try to resist the urge to use your catchphrase on him.”

“Yeah, yeah. See you, Host.”

Yandere hears footsteps walking away, the sound slightly echoing, leaving him alone with whoever the second voice belongs to. He may be awake, but he’s still so tired, still can’t open his eyes or move. He’s still afraid, still paranoid, but he’s too achy and exhausted and feverish to act on it.

At least, until he feels a hand on his forehead, brushing away sweaty bangs. His eyes fly open and he jolts up, so fast his vision blurs and dizziness rises in his head. He can’t struggle when gentle but firm hands push down his shoulders, keeping him from sitting up. A pathetic sound comes out of his throat, betraying his anxiety to the person before him.

“Hey, shh,” murmurs the person, voice low and soothing, “It’s okay, you’re safe, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Yandere’s vision clears enough to see who’s talking to him. He looks a lot like the Host, but his hair is different, messier and fluffier, with a chunk nearly hanging over his face. He’s wearing a head mirror and an unbuttoned white lab coat, showing pale blue scrubs beneath. His expression is calm, with concern simmering below the surface.

“Who are you?” Yandere gasps, “Where am I?”

“My name is Dr. Iplier, and you’re in Ego Inc.,” the person—Dr. Iplier— says, voice still soft and quiet, “Specifically in the library. The Host brought you here after you passed out. How are you feeling?”

“I feel…” Yandere speaks slowly as realization dawns, and a strange sensation takes hold of his heart. “I feel like…like I’m _home._ ”

“You are,” Dr. Iplier says, smiling, “Everything the Host told you before is true. He didn’t mean to scare you, but we’ve been running ourselves ragged trying to find you. He didn’t want you running off.” His smile drops. “And with good reason. To put it nicely, you aren’t exactly in the best condition.”

Yandere nods. He’s still trying to process what’s going on, trying to process that he’s finally where he belongs, trying to process that he doesn’t have to be afraid anymore—afraid of the people around him, or the place he’s in, at least. He’s still very much afraid of the way his body shifts in and out of focus.

“They’re forgetting about me,” he whispers, suddenly upset, “I only just _got_ here, I don’t want to—”

“Shh, shhhh, it’s okay,” Dr. Iplier soothes, “We’re going to do whatever it takes to stop you from fading, alright?”

“How do you stop people from forgetting?” Yandere asks, a whimper breaking into his words.

“We have our methods,” Dr. Iplier says with a wink, “But you don’t need to worry about that. All you have to worry about right now is getting some rest; it’s late, and you look like you’re about to pass out again. Later we’ll get some food into you, but for now, try to relax.”

Yandere is definitely tired, so tired, but a small part of him is still paranoid, convinced that this is all some elaborate trap to get him to let his guard down. Objectively he knows that if the Host or Dr. Iplier wanted to hurt him they could have done so many times over already, but he’s still wound tight, on the edge of a flight-or-fight response. Dr. Iplier seems to notice, and he sighs.

“I know this must be a lot,” he begins, “And I know things are moving pretty fast for you right now. I’m sure you’re still confused and afraid, and who wouldn’t be, after what you’ve been through.” He smiles sympathetically. “But Yandere, I promise you that no one here wants to hurt you. We’ve been waiting for you for a while, and now that you’re here, all we want is for you to stay. I promise you’re safe here. For what it’s worth,” he adds, “I’ll be right here with you while you’re asleep. Hell, I’m a doctor, it’s my _job_ to keep you safe. You don’t have to be afraid anymore.” He lays a comforting hand on Yandere’s shoulder. “You’re home, now.”

Just like that, the last wall Yandere has up finally breaks away, and he can’t help the tears of joy and relief that come in its wake. He remembers how it felt when the Host held him, how nice it was to be touched in a way that wasn’t a punch or a kick, and realizes how much he wants to feel that again. He throws his arms around Dr. Iplier’s neck, almost knocking him over, weak as he is. He starts to sob in earnest as Dr. Iplier wraps his arms around him in turn.

“Shh, shhhh,” Dr. Iplier murmurs, rubbing a hand up and down Yandere’s back, “You’re okay, Yan, you’re okay.”

Yandere nods into Dr. Iplier’s shoulder, crying too hard to speak. Dr. Iplier continues whispering gentle words to Yandere and rubbing his back until the younger ego runs out of tears, crying himself to sleep.

~~~

Dr. Iplier waits until Yandere is completely asleep, snoring softly into the crook of his neck, before laying him back down on the couch and pulling the blanket over him. Yandere settles into a comfortable position without waking up, and Dr. Iplier allows himself a sigh.

He knows the state Yandere’s in isn’t his fault, isn’t anyone’s fault. He knows it’s not his fault it’d taken so long for Yandere to get to Ego Inc., it’s not his fault that Yandere’s first month of life was a horror show. Yet he can’t help but feel responsible, feel like there’s something he could’ve done to prevent Yandere from getting to this point. He’s a _doctor_ , for god’s sake, he’s supposed to help people, not clean up the mess they leave behind when they die. He’s already had to do that countless times; had to hold the hands of dozens of egos as they disappeared into the ether, had to keep them warm and comfortable as they slipped away like grains of sand in an hourglass. Looking at Yandere, shivering with fever even as he sleeps, form flickering in and out, Dr. Iplier can’t help but be reminded of the ones who didn’t survive, can’t help but deeply hope that Yandere won’t follow them. He’s barely known the young ego ten minutes and already can’t help but feel protective of him.

He’s glad, at least, that he didn’t tell Yandere he was dying. Yandere isn’t dying, after all; not right now, anyway. The counter above his head is still sky blue, not the ugly red that lets him know that the time will not change, no matter what anyone does. But even knowing that Yandere’s time isn’t set in stone, it’s still not exactly promising. Dr. Iplier can’t help but feel a bit like a liar for telling Yandere that he was okay.

That’s all the time he has to think about it, however, for it’s then that he hears a whoosh of air from a few feet away. He looks up from Yandere to see the Host, Googleplier and Darkiplier standing there. Google and Dark say nothing at first as they look at Yandere, take in his pulsing form.

“He still hasn’t woken up?” the Host asks, concerned.

“No, he woke up while you were gone,” Dr. Iplier explains, “He’s asleep now, god knows he needs it.”

“It fi-i-i-gures after all the searching we did, th-the Host just finds him by accid-d-d-dent,” mutters Google. The android’s been glitchy practically since he was made, getting stuck on words and jerking as he moves like an animation with skipping frames. Dr. Iplier feels bad for him, but he’s a doctor, not a mechanic, so there’s little he can do about it. Not that Google wants his pity, anyway.

“The Host was lucky, he supposes,” the Host replies to Google, shrugging his shoulders.

“Here I thought we’d be getting another Wilford,” Dark scoffs, staring down at Yandere, “He hardly looks like the ego we saw in the video in this state.”

Dark is…untrustworthy, most days. Dr. Iplier’s known him long enough not to take what he says at face value. Every word that comes out of Dark’s mouth is predetermined, calculated, formed like a code that isn’t meant to be broken. The abilities of his aura are getting stronger by the day, as is his control of it. Perhaps the only thing detracting from Dark’s power is his appearance. Between his loose ties and band tees, black nails and lined eyes, all topped with flame-red hair, Dark doesn’t look very intimidating. At least, he shouldn’t. Truly, Dark is arrogant; self-assured enough to dress this way and knowledgeable enough in his own strength to make sure everyone else knows his power, too. He’s too powerful to care what the others think of his style, and the getup provides a decent distraction from whatever manipulation he pulls. Dr. Iplier knows better than to underestimate him. Yet, he also knows better than to get offended at Dark’s seemingly flippant attitude towards Yandere’s plight. It’s hard to see from the outside, but Dr. Iplier knows Dark too well not to: Dark is the only one who takes every loss of a new ego harder than he does. And why wouldn’t he? Dark’s the leader, after all; and as much as he acts like the other egos are the bane of his existence (and in fairness to him, they often are), he feels just as obligated to protect them as Dr. Iplier does. Not that he’d ever admit it, of course.

“He’s been through a lot,” Dr. Iplier says in response to Dark, “We’ll see his normal personality when he gets better.”

A sound like a firecracker suddenly pierces the air, and everyone startles as a puff of pink smoke accompanies it. It’s Wilford Warfstache, appearing as though he knew his name had been mentioned.

“Wilford, what are you doing here?” growls Dark.

“I couldn’t just let you guys see the newbie without me!” Wilford laughs, casually walking to the couch where Yandere lies.

“How d-d-did you even know h-he was here?” Google asks, annoyed. He and Dark both turn accusatory glances on the Host, who seems to sense them even without eyes.

“The Host did not tell Wilford anything,” the Host says, clearly miffed at being blamed, “He is as confused as the rest of you.”

By now, Wilford is right in front of Yandere, peering down at him, face mere inches from Yandere’s. It’s exactly why no one invited him; Wilford is tactless at the best of times and his bedside manner is horrendous.

“I expected him to be more…” Wilford turns a hand over as he tries to come up with the right word. “…stabby.”

“He’s fading, Wilford,” Dr. Iplier mutters, “He won’t be “stabby” until he’s better. Give him some space.”

“Aw, come on, Doc,” Wilford whines, turning a laughably unconvincing puppy-eyed look at Dr. Iplier, “I just wanted to see him! You guys are no fun.”

Yandere frowns in his sleep and starts to stir, and a sudden surge of protectiveness runs up Dr. Iplier’s chest.

“Wilford, he’s _sleeping_ ,” Dr. Iplier hisses, “If you can’t be _quiet_ , you’re going to have to leave.”

“Hey,” Wilford begins, disgruntled by the venom in Dr. Iplier’s voice, “Wilford Warfstache don’t take no shit from nobody!”

“And _Dr. Iplier_ don’t take no shit from _you_ ,” Dr. Iplier snarls, sardonic, “Especially not when he has a patient to look after. You’re going to get out of Yandere’s face and control your volume or you’re going to leave. Which is it?”

The two glare at each other for a long moment before Wilford sighs dramatically, the sound making Yandere stir again.

“ _Fine_ ,” he sniffs, “I’ll come back when you aren’t being a party pooper, which probably means I won’t come back at all.”

Dr. Iplier doesn’t dignify Wilford with a response. He knows he’ll get over himself before long; the pink ego has the attention span of a goldfish on his best day. Wilford poofs away with another firecracker pop, and Yandere mutters something unintelligible, close to waking. Dr. Iplier kneels down to him, gently ruffles his hair.

“Shhhhh, it’s alright,” he murmurs, “Go back to sleep, shh.”

For a moment it looks like Yandere might wake up, but instead he sighs and settles back into deeper sleep. Then it’s Dr. Iplier’s turn to sigh as he stands back up.

“I don’t hate Wilford,” Dr. Iplier mutters, “But _damn_ , he can be a nuisance.”

“At least he left,” Dark says.

“No thanks to you,” Dr. Iplier bites back.

“You seemed to be handling him fine on your own,” Dark replies, smirking.

Maybe Dr. Iplier spoke too soon. Maybe Dark is the nuisance.

“Is th-there a reason Yandere i-i-is here and not in your clinic?” Google asks Dr. Iplier, pointedly ignoring the awkward tension in the room. Dr. Iplier looks to the Host, knowing he has the answer to Google’s question.

“The Host brought him here,” the Host says, “Yandere had passed out, but he woke up for a moment as the Host was taking him back to Ego Inc. He was clearly frightened to be waking up in someone’s grasp, so the Host thought that the sooner he could but Yandere down, the better he’d feel. Since the library is on the first floor, the Host thought it was the best place.”

“It wasn’t a bad idea, either,” Dr. Iplier adds, “It didn’t take that long for Yandere to wake up again after he brought him here. Even waking up on this couch freaked him out, I can’t imagine how he would’ve reacted waking up to someone holding him.”

“Now that he’s asleep,” Dark says, “Might we take him to your clinic? I can teleport him there.”

“That’s probably not a good idea,” Dr. Iplier says, shaking his head, “Yandere’s been through a lot; he needs stability, consistency. He won’t get that if he falls asleep here and wakes up somewhere else. Besides, going through your void might wake him up anyway. I think it’d be best to keep him here for now. I’m a doctor, I know what’s best.” Dr. Iplier looks at the Host. “I hope you don’t mind?” The Host shrugs.

“It’s not like Yandere will be disruptive,” he says, “And having him close by might help the Host write about him.”

That’s what the plan to save Yandere is, that’s what the plan always is when an ego is fading: The Host writes stories, and Google makes edits and circulates content, everything that’s new and popular. They churn out content for the fading ego and make sure the fans see it. That’s all the fans have to do: See it and interact with it, remember and care.

“Speaking of,” Dark says, addressing Google and the Host, “Now that you’ve each seen Yandere, perhaps you both should get started.”

“D-a-a-ark,” Google says, frowning, “Is that really o-our best option? We’ve l-lost so many egos that way. Shouldn’t we t-try something that could actually work-k-k?”

There’s a long, tense pause. Google’s always been unapologetically sarcastic and unwilling to take orders from others. It’s no surprise, considering his origins, but it constantly puts him at odds with Dark, and Dr. Iplier’s worried that, someday, Dark won’t stand for it anymore. In response to Google, Dark gets a dangerous look to his eyes, and his aura starts to shake around him.

“If you have any better ideas,” Dark says slowly, flashing a false smile, “Then I would very much like to hear them.”

Google frowns, and seems to want to retort, but ultimately doesn’t.

“In that case,” Dark continues, “Then why don’t you stop _wasting time_ starting pointless arguments and start working to save Yandere, if you’re so concerned about him?”

“F-i-i-i-ine,” Google mutters, put out and frustrated but not willing to push Dark further. He turns and exits the library, and the Host retreats to deeper into the library to work. Dark, though, doesn’t teleport away, and instead stays looking at Yandere as his aura quiets.

“Dark?” Dr. Iplier eventually asks.

“Google…had a point,” Dark admits, “We do this every time, and it hardly ever seems to work.”

“You’re right, though,” Dr. Iplier sighs, “There’s not really anything else we can do about fading. It’s just…hard.”

Dark nods, a pensive, unhappy look on his face. Dr. Iplier can imagine what he’s thinking, and he’s proven right when Dark speaks next.

“How long does he have?” he asks. Dr. Iplier braces himself.

“…Two days,” he says quietly, only just managing to meet Dark’s eyes.

“Two _days?_ ” Dark seethes, eyes blazing, aura rearing up once again. Dr. Iplier winces.

“One day and twenty hours and three minutes, to be more exact,” Dr. Iplier explains quietly, reading Yandere’s counter, “It’s not set, though.”

“You didn’t think to tell the others?” Dark asks, voice dangerously low.

“What good would that have done?” Dr. Iplier asks in return, “If anything, it only would’ve put more pressure on them. They already have Yandere’s life on their shoulders, they don’t need anything more.”

Dark remains angry for another long moment, then visibly deflates, aura calming itself down.

“I suppose,” he concedes, voice grudging.

This is Dark at his most emotional, when an ego’s life is at stake. For how little he trusts him, Dr. Iplier can’t help but feel sympathetic. The burden Dark carries is a heavy one, and being the group doctor, Dr. Iplier has an idea of how it feels.

Dark steps closer to the couch, staring at Yandere with some amount of pity. The only sound is Yandere’s soft breathing as he sleeps, completely oblivious to Dark’s eyes on him. When Dark speaks next, it’s quiet enough for Yandere not to sense.

“Two days,” Dark repeats.

“He has a chance,” Dr. Iplier insists, “Bim was worse when we found him, and he got better, remember?”

“Certainly,” Dark mutters, “But I’m not counting on lightning to strike twice.”

Dr. Iplier doesn’t answer. There’s nothing he can really say to that. For several moments, no one says anything. Yandere continues to sleep, shivering a little even under the blanket. Dr. Iplier finds himself stroking Yandere’s hair, as if he can soothe him out of his feverish trembling. Yandere hums at the feeling of fingers in his hair, a soft, contented sound. Dr. Iplier’s heart flips over in his chest, and he hears Dark suck in a breath.

If there exists an ego who deserves what Yandere’s been through, it certainly isn’t Yandere.

“How long as it been since we got an ego who survived?” Dark asks, near-sadness in his voice, “A year and a half?”

“A bit longer, even,” Dr. Iplier answers. Between then and now, so many false starts.

“I hope,” Dark says, stepping back, “That we get to keep this one.”

“You and me both,” Dr. Iplier sighs.

Dark teleports then, disappearing with a burst of black smoke and a rush of air. Yandere doesn’t react, and simply continues to sleep as Dr. Iplier watches over him.

~~~

Yandere sleeps through the remainder of the night and into the morning. His sleep is dreamless for a while, but eventually his mind conjures images of dirty Los Angeles streets, of rough and cruel humans. There’s the sensation of having lost something he’s only just found, the sensation of his body dissipating into the air like smoke. He wakes with a cry, startling both himself and Dr. Iplier, who’s sitting in a chair nearby.

“Hey, Yan, it’s okay,” he murmurs, leaning over to Yandere, laying a hand on his shoulder, “Did you have a bad dream?”

Yandere nods, still shaking off the emotions the nightmare created. He lifts his hands to scrub at his eyes, trying to stop the tears there from falling.

“There, there,” Dr. Iplier whispers, pulling Yandere into a hug, “It’s alright; whatever you dreamed, it’s over now. You’re safe.”

Yandere curls into Dr. Iplier’s chest, still trying not to cry as the doctor smooths his hair. He watches his own hands flicker in front of him, and remembers that Dr. Iplier’s words aren’t entirely true.

He’s still got his new home, but he may not live long enough to enjoy it.

“I don’t wanna die,” he whimpers. He feels Dr. Iplier tense up before hugging Yandere tighter.

“We’re doing everything in our power to keep that from happening,” Dr. Iplier tells him.

“What exactly _are_ you doing?” Yandere asks, “I know you told me not to worry about it, but…”

“Well, it’s not exactly me,” Dr. Iplier admits, “It’s the Host, and another one of us called Google. The Host writes stories, and Google makes edits, and they both try to get as many fans to see them as possible.”

“Host-san writes?” asks Yandere, a little confused.

“Yep,” replies Dr. Iplier, “He’s a storyteller. It’s what he was made for.”

“Oh,” says Yandere, “But how does, um…” He pulls away from Dr. Iplier’s hug to look at him. “If he’s…?” He gestures to his eyes. Dr. Iplier can’t help but chuckle.

“He has a braille typewriter back there,” Dr. Iplier explains, pointing over his shoulder towards the library’s interior, “His narration helps him see, too, though by now he doesn’t always need it to get around.”

“Oh, okay,” Yandere says, remembering the Host talking to himself when Yandere first saw him, “I’m sorry if that was rude.”

“It’s alright, you can’t help being curious,” Dr. Iplier assures him, “And it’s probably better that you asked me about it instead of the Host. He’s a little sore about it.”

“That makes sense,” Yandere says. He pauses. “Who was the other person you mentioned?” he asks.

“Oh, Google?” Dr. Iplier asks, “His full name’s Googleplier, he’s an android. He’s pretty gruff, but he’s nice enough. And he’s really sarcastic, it’s sort of what he’s known for.”

“Is it…just the three of you here?” Yandere asks.

“God no,” Dr. Iplier says quickly, “There’s Darkiplier, Wilford Warfstache, King of the Squirrels, Bim Trimmer, Silver Shepherd, and Ed Edgar.” He can’t help but grin at the surprise on Yandere’s face at how many there are. “They’re all a bit eccentric—well, Wilford’s a lot eccentric—but they’re pretty nice. Except Dark; he’s evil, but he doesn’t actively try to hurt us.” He frowns. “Usually. He won’t hurt you, is my point.”

There’s a long moment of silence as Yandere takes the information in. He tilts his head.

“Just going by everyone’s names,” Yandere begins, “It sort of sounds like you’re the only normal one here, Ishi-san.” Dr. Iplier laughs, loud and mirthful. Yandere can’t help but smile a little.

“That might be true, Yandere, that might be true,” he chuckles as his laughter subsides. He raises an eyebrow, but his smile is still good-natured. “‘Ishi-san’?” he asks. Yandere blushes, red spreading like fire across his cheeks.

“It’s Japanese for ‘doctor’,” Yandere explains, awkward, “Is that…okay?”

“Of course,” Dr. Iplier reassures him, “It simply wasn’t a word I’d heard before.” He grins. “I guess it’s the first of many words I’ll learn from you, huh?”

(Yandere can’t tell the words are somewhat forced, can’t tell that he currently has less than two days to live.)

“Yeah,” Yandere says, grinning in turn as his blush starts to fade.

“Now, before I forget,” Dr. Iplier says, pointing to the end table beside the couch and behind Yandere’s head, “I told you I’d have you eat something when you woke up.”

Yandere turns to look, and there on the table are a few pieces of toast on a plate, a glass of orange juice, and a napkin.

“It’s not a lot, but you shouldn’t eat too much right away,” Dr. Iplier continues, “You don’t want to upset your stomach. And don’t eat too fast, either, that’ll make you sick.” He grins a little sheepishly. “We figure you probably prefer Japanese food, but none of know how to make it.”

“Oh no, it’s okay,” Yandere is quick to assure as he twists around to grab the plate, “This is…perfect. _Arigatou_.” Yandere remembers trying and failing to steal food, and getting disdainful looks whenever he had enough money to go into a store and buy some. This is much, _much_ better.

Dr. Iplier smiles. He’s never heard the word _“arigatou”_ before, but he’s pretty sure he can tell what it means.

“No problem, Yandere,” he says, “After you eat, you can find a book or two to read if you want, as long as you’re careful with them.”

“Okay!” Yandere says, perking up with happiness, “When do you think I can, you know, go out and see the rest of Ego Inc?”

Dr. Iplier almost winces, looking at Yandere’s time, still steadily ticking down. At his form, still shifting in and out. Yandere, quietly saying _“Itadakimasu”_ and biting into a piece of toast, doesn’t notice his glance.

“Not until your health improves,” Dr. Iplier tells him, “I’m sure you feel pretty good now that you’ve slept, but your symptoms haven’t gotten any better.” He smiles reassuringly, hiding his doubt. “We’ll see how you feel later today.” Yandere nods, unable to speak with food in his mouth. “Well,” Dr. Iplier continues, standing up, “I’m sure you don’t want me just sitting here watching you now that you’re awake, and your condition’s pretty stable, so I’m gonna go find a book for myself. I won’t go too far, so don’t hesitate to find me if something happens or you don’t feel good.” Yandere swallows the bite of toast in his mouth to respond.

“Okay,” he says, smiling, “Thanks for everything, Ishi-san.”

“Of course,” Dr. Iplier replies, smiling back, “I’m a doctor, it’s what I’m here for.”

“Still,” Yandere insists before taking another bite of his toast.

Dr. Iplier chuckles before walking from the couch and into the forest of bookshelves around him. He waits until he’s a decent distance from Yandere to sigh.

Meanwhile, Yandere continues eating, oblivious to his counter projecting one day, eleven hours, twenty-seven minutes, and seven seconds, six seconds, five seconds, so on.

~~~

It doesn’t take Yandere long to finish eating, and it takes him even less time to find the library’s manga section. He takes a stack back to the couch to read, setting them on the table behind his head. Also in the area is a second couch where Dr. Iplier sits reading a novel, keeping half an eye and half an ear on Yandere as he reads. Though Yandere feels much safer and happier than he did last night, he’s still very much ill. Merely walking around the library and carrying books seems to tire him out, and he continuously wraps himself up in and kicks off the blanket as his fever throws off his body’s temperature. But most tellingly, his form continues shifting in and out of visibility, and his time continues going down.

But for a couple hours, things are peaceful. The peace ends when an explosion of sound and color like a pink firework resounds in the library in the exact middle of the space between the two couches. Dr. Iplier and Yandere both startle.

“Hey, Wilford,” says Dr. Iplier, a resigned sort of note to his voice.

“Is that any way to greet _the_ Wilford Warfstache?” drawls Wilford, playfully wagging a finger at the doctor. “Just wanted to see if the newbie was awake yet.” He turns and looks at Yandere, who’s looking at Wilford with amused confusion. “The name, as mentioned, is Wilford Warfstache. The pleasure is all yours!” He holds out a hand for Yandere to shake, and he does, matching Wilford’s grip. Wilford seems to grin harder. “A strong handshake, I like that. It’s a good sign. I have a good feeling about you, Yandy.”

Even hardly knowing Wilford, Yandere can already sense the madness in him, being so familiar with it himself. He recognizes his own endless positivity, with a tinge of ridiculousness thrown in. Dr. Iplier is kind and all, but _here_ , Yandere thinks, is someone he can _relate_ to, someone he can connect with.

“I have a good feeling about you, too, Wilford-san,” Yandere replies, flashing a grin of his own.

There’s a pause. Wilford blinks.

“Yeah, no, that doesn’t work,” he says, “Just Wilford.”

“Are you sure?” asks Yandere, tilting his head. “Honorifics are important.”

“I’m sure,” Wilford replies easily, “Just Wilford, maybe Wil when we’re friends, but for now just Wilford.” He winks. “Don’t wear it out.”

“Wil,” Dr. Iplier pipes up, “Don’t be insensitive.”

“What? I don’t need an honorific,” Wilford protests, “It’d be like calling me “Mr. Wilford.” It’s just silly.”

“You know how Japanese honorifics work?” Yandere asks, tilting his head to the other side, not unlike a puppy trying to listen to a new sound.

“Sure,” Wilford says, “Figured I’d do a little Googling before you showed up.” He pauses. “Not actually with Google, though.”

“Since when are you this considerate?” Dr. Iplier asks, but there’s a teasing note to his voice.

“I just can’t do anything right today, can I, Doc?” Wilford asks, dramatic but with a with a smile on his face. He turns back to Yandere. “So, what do you do?”

_“Nani?”_ asks Yandere, caught off guard by the question.

“Hey, I know that word!” Wilford exclaims, “But seriously, what do you do? What’s your schtick, aside from the mindless homicide we saw in your video?” There’s not a drop of venom or sarcasm in his words. Yandere is glad for it, because he truly does want to share what his goal is, now that he’s thinking about it. Every figment has one, and Yandere, of course, has his.

“Well,” Yandere begins, “I really want to find my senpai.” He sighs dreamily. “I don’t know who they are yet, but I’m sure they’re perfect. After I find them, I’ll become their kohai, and eventually their husband!” He giggles. “And, of course, I’ll cut down anyone who gets in my way.” His grin lengthens, becoming just a touch too wide.

“Nice,” says Wilford, nodding, “A bit mushy for my taste, but nice.”

Dr. Iplier sighs, exasperated. After spending the night comforting Yandere and making sure he slept well, he’d sort of forgotten the young ego’s origins.

“It might be easier to kill people,” Wilford is saying, “If you looked a little more intimidating. Not that you don’t pull off the uniform,” he explains, “But it’s not exactly frightening.”

“Maybe not,” Yandere admits, “But _this_ is!” He pulls out his katana, holding the blade up, showing it off with pride. Wilford whistles.

“That’s a helluva sword,” he says, looking at the weapon with admiration, “I’m more of a “guns and smaller knives” kinda guy myself.”

“Hold on a minute, Yan,” interjects Dr. Iplier, looking at the younger ego sternly, “I could’ve _sworn_ the Host carried that on him while he was taking you here, and I don’t remember him ever giving it back, considering you were unconscious both times he saw you. How did you get that back?”

“I dunno,” Yandere answers, shrugging, “I just have it. Doesn’t really matter what happens to my katana,” he goes on, looking fondly at the weapon, “It always ends up back in my hands.”

“Looks like we have another reality-bender here,” says Wilford, grinning like a madman as the realization sinks in, “If I do say so myself. What else can you do?”

“I don’t really know,” Yandere admits, “I can’t really make anything happen, it just sort of goes by itself. Like, I can carry pretty much anything, including my sword, without it actually being on me. It’s just there when I take it out.”

“So, you operate on anime logic?” Wilford asks, laughing a little. “That’s brilliant. Maybe eventually you’ll figure out how to manipulate it.”

“You think so?” Yandere asks brightly.

“Of course!” Wilford replies, “After all, I figured out my powers pretty fast.”

“That’s because you’re one of the most powerful figments here, Wil,” puts in Dr. Iplier.

“Really?” Yandere asks, eyes shining. _“Sugoi!”_

“I don’t know what that second word means, but yep!” Wilford answers, puffing up proudly.

Wilford and Yandere end up talking for a while, passing the morning into the afternoon. Both are ecstatic to have made a new friend, especially Yandere. He finds that the longer he spends in Ego Inc., the more the place truly feels like home. Dr. Iplier ends up leaving to get some lunch for Yandere, asking Wilford to stay with him while he’s gone, and it’s practically domestic to the young ego. Even though his form keeps flickering, right now, he’s so happy he can almost ignore it.

While Dr. Iplier is gone, another visitor comes into the library, arriving in a cloud of inky smoke.

“Heya, Darky,” says Wilford, unperturbed by Dark’s sudden appearance.

Yandere is a little startled by Dark, but it quickly changes into fascination as he looks at him. It’s not just Dark’s clothes, his black nails, or even his hair as red as Yandere’s that the young ego notices the most, but the black, snakelike aura wafting around him. The thing is hardly attached to him at all, spreading around him in all directions.

“Wilford,” Dark greets curtly. He then looks at Yandere. “You’re finally awake, hm?”

“Y-yes,” Yandere stammers. A figment can always tell when another figment is stronger than they are, and some figments make their strength more apparent than others. Wilford is powerful, yes, but he has a lackadaisical demeanor and boisterous personality to mask it. Dark, though, clearly revels in his power. Yandere can’t help but be intimidated.

Dark, meanwhile, glances around.

“Where is the doctor?” he asks. “Don’t tell me he just left you to your own devices.”

“He went to get lunch for Yandere,” says Wilford, letting a knife appear in his hand for him to toss into the air and catch, “I should’ve made a request myself.”

“So the doctor left Yandere with _you_ ,” Dark says, disdainful, “I may need to have a word with him.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, Darkipoo!” Wilford whines, going to Dark and dramatically throwing an arm over across his shoulders. Dark bristles but doesn’t interrupt. “Yan and I have been getting along great!” Wilford continues, hand not across Dark’s shoulders still messing with his knife. “Haven’t we, Yandy?”

“Yeah!” Yandere says quickly, coming to Wilford’s defense despite his nerves, “We’re doing fine by ourselves, just talking.”

“See?” Wilford drawls, continuing to throw his knife up and catch it as it falls, “You don’t have to worry about us!”

“Do I?” asks Dark dryly. “In either case, I suppose an introduction is in order.” He turns back towards Yandere, shaking off Wilford’s arm as he approaches him. Yandere, still sitting on the couch, struggles to meet Dark’s eyes. He wonders if he should stand, but he can’t make himself move.

“My name is Darkiplier,” Dark says, voice silky smooth, “You may call me Dark, if you’d like.”

“Or Darky,” interrupts Wilford from behind him, “Or Darkipoo, or edgelord, or—”

“You may call me _none_ of those things,” Dark snarls, not looking at Wilford. His aura contracts, betraying his annoyance, and Yandere almost shrinks back. But Dark quickly composes himself, putting a calm expression back on his face and forcing his aura to relax. “I’m the oldest,” Dark continues, “And the leader of this group here.” He gestures a hand around himself. “I made this building, and most of the rooms in it. I keep everyone here out of trouble, and in turn, they do well not to _cause_ trouble.” He leans down closer to Yandere, speaks nearly in a whisper, a dangerous gleam to his eye. “Will I have to worry about you getting in my way?”

“N-no,” Yandere mumbles, awestruck but not quite afraid. There’s something about Dark, something that makes Yandere’s heart pound, but it isn’t fear. Yandere isn’t scared. He’s intimidated and nervous, but he’s not scared of Dark, even though it’s clear that Dark is trying to scare him. Whether Dark can tell this or not, Yandere doesn’t know, but the smirk on his face suggests that he’s satisfied regardless.

“C’mon, Dark, he just got here,” huffs Wilford, knife going up and down through the air, “It wouldn’t kill you to be _welcoming_ every once in a while.”

“You say that as if Yandere _isn’t_ the only new ego you haven’t managed to scare immediately,” Dark retorts smoothly, straightening up.

“That’s totally diff—Oops.”

Wilford cuts himself off as the knife he’d been tossing goes a little too far away as he throws it up. Even in a mistaken throw Wilford’s aim is impeccable, for the knife reaches the tip of its arc before dipping down, heading right for Dark’s shoulder. Yandere gasps, expecting the knife to cut right through. But he needn’t have worried: Without so much as flinching, Dark uses his aura to catch the weapon the moment before it reaches his skin. The knife stays there, suspended in the air by wisps of black, and all three people in the room are silent. Dark, without letting the aura drop the knife, slowly turns his head over his shoulder to look at Wilford. The venom in his stare gives even Wilford pause, and he throws up his hands in surrender.

“It was an accident, I swear,” he says, voice somewhat quieter and characteristic drawl less pronounced.

“I’m _sure_.” Dark speaks with icy calm barely covering poisonous anger.

Yandere hold his breath. Wilford seems to do the same. But moments pass, and no one moves, and the knife continues to stay stuck in Dark’s aura. Wilford relaxes, and is about to speak when Dark’s aura expertly flings the knife back at him, aiming for the throat. Wilford yelps in surprise and only barely dodges, still getting a cut on the side of his neck.

“Hey!” he yells, more offended than hurt, “I _told_ you it was an accident!”

“One of us has to set an example here, Wilford,” Dark responds cooly. “On that note,” he continues, looking back at Yandere, “I think I’m done here.” His grin is arrogant. “Be seeing you, Yandere.” Then he vanishes in a cloud of smoke.

It takes Yandere a moment to process what happened, to process that show of self-assurance, that show of control, that show of _power_. The low, rumbling way he spoke to Yandere, even as he spoke of his own strength. The calculation in every move, how he dodged Wilford’s attempts to undermine him, how he expertly caught the knife in smoky tendrils without so much as blinking, how he waited until Wilford’s guard was down before tossing it back with cold ferocity. Not in all the people and other figments Yandere has met so far as he seen anyone like Dark. No other person or figment has made his heart pound the way it is now, has filled him with such deep fascination, has given him this feeling he can’t name. Dark is…something. Dark is _everything_. Dark is as cold and cruel as ice, as fierce and imposing as a panther, as powerful and dangerous as the ocean, as deep and grand and _beautiful_ as the night sky, as perfect—

Perfect.

Oh.

_Oh_.

Yandere had wondered what this moment would feel like. And it feels like every moment before it was meant to carry him here, like the stars were waiting for the perfect time to give this moment to him, like the last piece of his existence has fallen into place, like he’s discovered his purpose, discovered what he was made for.

Pink petals of cherry blossoms start to rain down, floating over themselves on their way to the ground, but Yandere, red-cheeked and starry-eyed, barely notices.

“Ugh, that asshole,” Wilford is muttering, poofing away his knife and holding a hand to the cut on his neck, “Don’t mind him, he’s just being extra ‘cause there’s a new—” Wilford pauses. “What’s with that face? And what’s with the flowers?”

Yandere blinks, resurfacing from his thoughts, and flashes the brightest smile he’s ever made.

“I found my senpai,” he sighs dreamily.

Wilford’s jaw drops.

“You gotta be kidding me,” he says, gaping, “Dark? Out of everyone in the whole world, _Dark’s_ the one you choose??”

“I didn’t _choose_ him,” Yandere murmurs, still smiling, “It was love at first sight.” He holds out a palm and watches a flower petal drift into it. “It was _fate_.”

“Gag me,” Wilford mutters, “Look, Yan, not to rain on your parade, but Dark’s probably the worst person to be your senpai on the planet.” He gives a small shrug. “I wouldn’t even bet on him being capable of love, to be honest.”

“I’m sure he is,” Yandere says, running a finger over the flower petal in his palm, not looking at Wilford, “And even if he isn’t, I know I can make him love me if I’m patient and I try hard enough.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” sighs Wilford. He waves petals out of his face. “Enough with the flower petals already, this is already too mushy for me.” At that, Yandere finally looks up at Wilford to pout in annoyance.

“I can’t just turn them off, Wilford,” he says, “Besides, I think they’re pretty.” He grins as a thought occurs to him. “And they’re pink, you like pink, right?”

“You raise a good point,” Wilford says, as though deeply considering, “Alright, I’ll tolerate the petals for now.” He looks down. “You know they’re disappearing when they hit the ground?”

“Oh,” Yandere says, looking for himself, “I guess they are.” He grins again. “That’s convenient!”

By the time Dr. Iplier returns a few minutes later, the petals have subsided, and Wilford’s neck has stopped bleeding, though the hand he kept pressed over it is bloody. Dr. Iplier notices immediately as he sets Yandere’s lunch on the end table.

“What did you do this time?” He asks, approaching Wilford and taking out a pack of wet wipes to clean up the blood.

“Dark threw a knife at me,” Wilford whines, like a child telling a tattletale.

“I don’t doubt it,” Dr. Iplier replies easily, all too used to Dark and Wilford’s spats. As he’s taking care of Wilford’s neck he notices the overly-happy look on Yandere’s face. “Was it that much fun to watch Wilford get stabbed?” he teases Yandere.

“Oh, no,” Yandere giggles, “I found out that Dark-san is my senpai!”

“…Oh,” Dr. Iplier says, not sure how else to respond.

“Exactly,” Wilford mutters.

Luckily, the rest of the day is much less eventful. Wilford ends up leaving to work on his show, and Yandere goes back to reading. Dr. Iplier stays close by, but Yandere never complains of feeling bad. His time, however, continues going down, showing no signs of rising. By the time Yandere goes to sleep for the night, blanket tucked around him and pillow under his head, his clock has just passed twenty-four hours. The numbers are still blue, though, and Dr. Iplier, sitting in a chair beside the couch, has no choice but to hope. But it’s difficult to do.

At one point, he’s approached by the Host.

“You’re not sleeping,” the Host says.

“Neither are you,” Dr. Iplier replies, giving a wry smile.

“I’m writing,” Host says, stretching his arms, “I needed a break, I was starting to cramp up.”

“I’m looking after Yan,” Dr. Iplier says, “And by the looks of him, neither of us can do much sleeping tonight.”

“Mm,” Host replies. He doesn’t need to see Yandere to know how his form must be flickering, but he quietly narrates it to himself anyway, unconsciously noting that it’s gotten worse since the previous night. The flickers are longer, more frequent than they were before.

When his narration fades, there’s silence for a few moments.

“No matter how many times this happens,” Dr. Iplier sighs, “I always get attached. I’m a doctor, I’m not supposed to get emotionally invested in every patient that I see.” He shakes his head. “Every time a new ego starts to fade, I tell myself to stay distant, to just take care of them and not get so caught up. But I always, _always_ do.” He reaches out a hand and strokes Yandere’s hair. “And I have again.”

“That doesn’t make you a bad doctor,” Host says gently, walking up to Dr. Iplier, “It makes you compassionate.” He comes up behind the doctor’s chair, loosely wrapping his arms around Dr. Iplier’s shoulders. “Yandere’s sleeping well tonight, thanks to you.”

“It might be the last night he gets to sleep,” Dr. Iplier murmurs, “He only has a day left.”

“Is it still blue?” Host asks, leaning down so his head is next to Dr. Iplier’s.

“Yes,” Dr. Iplier answers, turning to look at the Host, putting them nose to nose.

“Then we’ll keep going,” Host says, lightly kissing Dr. Iplier, “I’ll keep writing and you keep watching. Alright?”

“Alright,” Dr. Iplier replies, kissing the Host in turn, “I’ll let you get back to work then.” He pauses as the Host pulls away to go. “Thank you, Host.”

“Of course, Doctor,” the Host responds, smiling gently before he walks away, soon disappearing into the darkness of the library.

Dr. Iplier looks back at Yandere, at his time still shrinking, and sighs, trying to take the Host’s words to heart.

~~~

It’s when Yandere’s counter hits twelve hours that things begin to fall apart. He’s standing at a shelf, flipping through a book and trying to decide if he wants to read it, when a pang of dizziness hits him so hard he has to put the book down and lean against the shelf.

“Ishi-san,” he calls, voice already weak, “I feel really dizzy all of a sudden.”

Luckily, Dr. Iplier is only two aisles over, and is by Yandere in a flash.

“Alright, let’s go back to couch,” Dr. Iplier says, keeping his voice professional and calm despite catching sight of Yandere’s counter. He loops one of Yandere’s arms around his shoulders and helps the younger ego walk back to the couch. By the time they reach it, Yandere’s dizzy spell has passed, but it’s sapped much of his energy.

“How about I go grab some books from the shelf you were at,” Dr. Iplier suggests, “And you see if you want to read them?”

“Okay,” Yandere answers, tired, “Thanks.”

When Yandere’s counter hits ten hours, his head hurts too much to read, and he’s forced to put down the book in his hands and lay down. He waits for the headache to pass so he can go back to his book, but it doesn’t, only getting worse. He groans and tucks himself under the blanket, letting the book flop onto the floor.

“Yan, what’s wrong?” asks Dr. Iplier, noticing the slight outburst.

“Headache,” Yandere mutters.

“You want a tylenol?” Dr. Iplier asks him. It’s at least fortunate that most of the symptoms of fading are easily treatable.

“Yeah,” Yandere answers.

Dr. Iplier gives him one, and after half an hour of Yandere trying to doze through the pain as Dr. Iplier rubs circles into his hair, it takes effect and lets Yandere go back to reading, though there’s still a light throbbing that doesn’t go away. But by now Yandere has caught on that his condition is worsening. He hopes the fans remember soon.

When Yandere’s counter hits eight hours, Wilford shows up to hang out with Yandere again. He notices right away that Yandere has gotten worse.

“Sheesh, kid, you look like hell,” Wilford says.

“That’s an interesting way to greet someone,” Dr. Iplier quips from his couch, not looking up from his book.

“Well, I’ve been feeling pretty bad today,” Yandere admits, looking at his hands, watching them flicker, “It’s getting worse.” His brows knit in worry. “I hope I get better soon.”

“You will, I’m sure of it!” Wilford insists with a wink, “My assistant Bim—you haven’t met him yet—showed up here looking about like you do now. But Host and Google jogged the fans’ memory in no time!” Wilford grins. “Maybe it’s taking a while this time, but that just means there’ll be a ton more stuff for fans to remember you with!”

“Really?” Yandere asks, feeling a little better.

“Oh, sure,” Wilford says. He turns to Dr. Iplier. “Bim had what, sixteen hours left to live when he showed up?” Dr. Iplier bristles and looks up from his book.

“Um, yeah,” he mutters quickly. He begins to keep talking, trying to change the subject, but—

“What does that mean?” Yandere asks, “How did you know how much time he had left to live?”

“Oh, _oh,_ ” Wilford says, “Doc, you didn’t tell him, did you?”

“ _Wil,_ ” hisses Dr. Iplier, but the damage is already done.

“Tell me what?” Yandere asks. He stares at Dr. Iplier. “Ishi-san, can you…tell when someone is going to die?”

“…Yes,” Dr. Iplier sighs, knowing there’s no point in lying now, “I can see a timer above everyone’s head, telling me when they’re going to die down to the second. But it’s usually not set in stone; it fluctuates depending on what happens to someone. I can tell that, too, if it’s able to change still, by its color: Blue for when it might change, red for when it won’t.”

“And you didn’t want me to know,” Yandere murmurs, putting it together. “So that means…” There’s a pause as his expression subdues. “Ishi-san, how long do I have?”

“Your time is still blue,” Dr. Iplier says, trying to dodge the question.

“Yandere, forget it,” Wilford says, a note of pleading in his voice, “Forget I said anything.” He may not know Yandere’s time, but he knows by Dr. Iplier’s behavior that it can’t be good.

“How long?” Yandere repeats, lip starting to tremble.

“You don’t need to know,” Dr. Iplier insists, getting up from his chair to approach Yandere, “You don’t _want_ to know.”

“Yes I do!” Yandere exclaims, “Tell me how long I have left!”

“Yandere, it doesn’t matter, it could still change—” Dr. Iplier starts.

“Tell me!” Yandere yells. He’s angry now, desperate to know.

“Yandere, _please,_ ” Dr. Iplier almost begs, right in front of Yandere now, “No one who thinks they want to know ever wants to know.”

“I don’t care, just _tell me_ already!!” Yandere almost screams.

Dr. Iplier takes a deep breath and sighs it back out.

“Eight hours,” he says, voice like stone.

“Eight…” Yandere gasps, “…hours?”

“It’s not red,” Dr. Iplier continues, “It can still change, you aren’t doomed.”

There’s a long moment of silence as Dr. Iplier and Wilford watch Yandere’s expression change, eyes widening and hands moving to cover his mouth in shock as he processes what Dr. Iplier’s told him.

The silence is cut when Yandere lets out a wail, long and loud, that eventually cracks and dissolves into harsh sobs.

“Oh, Yan,” murmurs Dr. Iplier, heart dropping into his stomach.

“You knew this _whole time!_ ” Yandere bawls, “You knew th-this whole time and you didn’t even say a-anything!!”

“This is exactly _why_ I didn’t say anything,” Dr. Iplier sighs, fighting to keep his voice steady, “I knew you’d react like this.”

“I th-thought I was gonna get _better!_ ” Yandere sobs, “I thought everyone was g-gonna remember and I’d b-be okay, and you knew that wasn’t true!” He curls up, pulling in his legs to make himself into an unhappy ball. “You t-told me I was gonna be okay and you _lied!!_ ”

“Yan, listen to me,” Dr. Iplier says, trying to be calm, “Your counter isn’t red, it’s not set.”

“So??” Yandere yells, “Any second n-now it probably will be!” He lifts his head to glare at Dr. Iplier, and he and Wilford both see that Yandere’s eyes have gone from sweet brown to angry red. “Host and Google have been working since I g-got here and I’ve only gotten worse!!” Yandere goes on, “I bet y-you agree with me and you just w-won’t admit it!”

“Don’t just give up, Yan!” Dr. Iplier practically pleads, reaching for Yandere to comfort him, “Please, I know you’re upset—”

“ _No!_ ” Yandere screams, shrinking away from Dr. Iplier’s hands, “Don’t touch me! G-Get away from me! _Usotsuki! Ketsumedo yarou!_ ” He curls tighter into himself, tucking his head back down. He continues to sob, body shaking with sadness and rage. “Just l-leave me alone!!”

Dr. Iplier pulls his hands away, at a loss. He so desperately wants to comfort Yandere, and his knowledge about the young ego and his experience as a doctor tell him that Yandere needs it. But Dr. Iplier doesn’t want to upset him further, and he knows Yandere won’t listen to a thing he says in the state he’s in.

Dr. Iplier’s surprised when Wilford suddenly brushes past him, sitting on the couch with Yandere and pulling him into a tight hug.

“Don’t cry, kiddo,” Wilford says, speaking more softly than Dr. Iplier’s ever heard him speak before, “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“No it’s _not,_ ” Yandere sobs, but he doesn’t pull away, instead clinging onto Wilford’s shirt and leaning into the embrace. There’s a pause as Wilford considers Yandere’s words.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he concedes, “But I still believe what I said before. I know it’s gotten bad, but I’m sure they’re gonna remember you.”

“It’s just not fair,” Yandere whimpers, “I s-spent a month out there by myself, and then I just…I had it. I found my home, and I f-found my senpai, and I made friends, I _had_ it. I had it and now…it’s not _fair_.”

“Life hardly is, Yan,” Wilford sighs.

“I don’t wanna die,” Yandere sniffles.

“Yan, listen to me,” Wilford says, moving one hand to take Yandere’s chin, making him look up, “I said when we me that I had a good feeling about you, and I still do. Now, Doc said your time’s still blue, so there’s still time for the fans to remember.” Wilford leans forward to gently bump his forehead against Yandere’s. “It looks bleak now, but I’m certain you’ll be okay. And even if me and Doc are both wrong, you shouldn’t spend your last day miserable.” He swipes his thumb under Yandere’s eye, wiping away tears, and gives the young ego a classic Warfstache grin.

“I’m scared,” Yandere whispers. His eyes are back to their normal brown, but they’re wide and wet and still dripping tears.

“I know, kid,” Wilford murmurs, “I know.”

He stays for a while, holding Yandere close, until the younger ego dozes off in his arms. When that happens, he lays Yandere on the couch, pulling the blanket back over him.

“I’m…gonna go,” he says, now awkward, “I’ll be back but I don’t—” He stops for a moment as Yandere flickers, so severe he’s invisible for nearly a second before shifting back into reality. “I just…can’t.”

“I get it, Wil,” Dr. Iplier says, and he does, “Thanks for comforting Yan back there.”

“Wilford Warfstache does give the best hugs,” Wilford says, managing a small smile. He stands. “Tell me if…if I have to come back.”

Dr. Iplier nods, and Wilford teleports away with a poof.

When Yandere’s counter hits six hours, Yandere has woken back up to lay morosely on the couch, trying to read again. But his thoughts are still running, still everywhere at once, and the shivery fever is his blood flairs back up. The day has melted through a golden sunset into night, and Yandere can’t help but think that he’ll never see the sun again.

He’s silent until Dr. Iplier brings him food.

“Not hungry,” he grumbles.

“You have to eat something,” Dr. Iplier says, “You’ll feel better if you do.”

“I’m not hungry,” Yandere repeats, “And I’m gonna be dead in a few hours anyway, so what’s the point?”

“Yan, you can’t think like that,” Dr. Iplier sighs, “Your time is still blue, you aren’t a lost cause.”

“It’s easy for you to say,” Yandere mutters, “You aren’t fading, you don’t know how it feels.” He flickers, another long one, and winces when he’s visible again. “It’s like I’m melting into nothing. It really feels like I’m dying.”

“I know it does,” Dr. Iplier murmurs, “I haven’t experienced it, but I’ve taken care of egos who have, like Bim. I know it hurts, but trust that I wouldn’t be keep saying you aren’t dying if I didn’t believe it.”

Yandere is silent and pensive.

“Look, you don’t have to eat all of it,” Dr. Iplier says, “But try to at least eat a little. It’ll help you feel a little better.”

When Yandere’s counter hits four hours, the food is still untouched. Not so much because Yandere doesn’t want it, but because he’s becoming too sick to eat it. His fever spikes, and his body trembles ever harder. When Dr. Iplier moves his chair to sit at Yandere’s side, Yandere is too weakened to protest. The doctor puts a cool compress on Yandere’s forehead, but it doesn’t help much, and he can see Yandere beginning to slip away. He remembers Wilford’s resolution to come back, and calls him.

“Wilford, Yandere’s getting worse. He’s still got time left, but he won’t be awake for most of it. You ought to come now.”

It’s mystifying, truly, the fact that Yandere’s time is still painted blue. Dr. Iplier’s never seen an ego get this bad and not have their time switch to deadly red. There’s still a shred of hope in him, but it’s getting smaller and smaller with each passing second, as each passing moment he expects the counter to turn red. For all he told Yandere about how he still had a chance, the chance is getting ever slimmer.

Wilford poofs into the room before Dr. Iplier even has a chance to hang up the phone, and the pop it makes in the air is loud and close enough to break into Yandere’s awareness. He turns toward the sound, eyes half-open and cloudy.

“Wil,” he croaks.

“Hey, Yan,” Wilford says, kneeling down to face him. He tries to grin. “You still look terrible.”

“Yeah,” Yandere replies, smiling weakly, “I feel terrible.” He huffs out a sound that would be a giggle were he stronger. “I’ll miss you.”

Wilford’s expression drops, and he doesn’t speak. Instead, he lifts a hand and begins to stroke Yandere’s hair. Yandere makes an indecipherable but happy-sounding mumble in response, and lets his eyes slip closed. He stays half-awake, but too far into his fever’s grip to notice when Wilford pulls his hand away and walks to the other couch, unable to continue watching Yandere deteriorate up close. He sits down, chin in his hands and leaning forward, and continues to say nothing. His expression is strange, with furrowed brows and downturned lips, vaguely angry and somewhat sad.

“Is it always like this?” Wilford finally asks. “Is it always like this when they…go?”

“Not always,” Dr. Iplier answers, unable to keep the weariness out of his voice, “Sometimes it’s quicker.”

Wilford frowns deeper, like he’d wanted a different answer, and lapses into silence again.

When Yandere’s counter hits three hours, he stirs and fully wakes, though his symptoms haven’t lessened any. His eyes open to see Dr. Iplier watching over him, quickly joined by Wilford, who approaches upon seeing Yandere rouse himself. But Yandere only seems able to focus on Dr. Iplier as fading blurs his vision.

“Hey, Yan,” Dr. Iplier murmurs, voice soft.

“I’m sorry,” Yandere says, voice barely a breath, “I’m sorry about before.”

“It’s alright,” Dr. Iplier replies, and he means it, “You were upset and afraid, and you lashed out. I don’t blame you.”

“I’m still scared,” Yandere rasps, “I’m so scared.”

“I know,” Dr. Iplier whispers, “And I can’t promise you it’ll be okay. But I can promise you that no matter what happens, Wil and I will be right here with you.” He takes one of Yandere’s hands in both his own, having to clench tight to keep Yandere’s transparent fingers from slipping through his grasp. “However this ends, you won’t be alone.”

Yandere manages a smile.

“ _Arigatou,_ ” he breathes, voice filled with emotion. Moments later, his face relaxes and his eyes drift close.

Dr. Iplier doubts he’ll see them open again.

When Yandere’s counter hits two hours, Wilford is sitting on the other couch again with the same strange expression as before, and Yandere’s form is so withered that Dr. Iplier can’t hold onto his hand anymore. It’s not too long after that the cold compress sinks through Yandere’s forehead into the couch, and Dr. Iplier removes it quickly. He tries ruffling Yandere’s hair, but his fingers barely move the strands. Yandere’s breathing becomes labored as his body is put under more and more stress. Yet, despite it all, his counter is still maddeningly blue. It’s horrible to think and Dr. Iplier knows it, but a part of him wishes Yandere’s time would just turn red already, so he could finally say he’s dying and be done with it. But he can’t say it, can’t think it until that timer goes red, and even as it ticks steadily downward, it stays perfectly, infuriatingly blue.

He’s not surprised when Darkiplier shows up. No doubt he’s been keeping track of Google and the Host’s progress, or lack thereof. At first, he doesn’t speak, only stares at Yandere with pity and some amount of sadness.

“It’s happening, then,” Dark says. It isn’t a question.

“His time still isn’t red,” says Dr. Iplier, “But he’s so far gone, I…I don’t know how he could possibly recover.”

“How long?” Dark asks.

“Two hours,” Dr. Iplier answers, and Dark sighs heavily.

“Here I thought—” Dark shakes his head. “Nevermind.”

There’s a long pause of silence.

“Hey, Dark,” Wilford half-laughs, “After that power trip you had in front of Yan yesterday, he decided you were his senpai.” The look in his eyes is unnerving, a little mocking. “I bet he’d be happy you’re here, if he still knew what was going on.”

“Wil,” Dark warns, but there isn’t much bite to it.

Another pause, shorter this time.

“I really had a good feeling about him,” Wilford insists, a frantic note beginning to enter his voice, “I really thought he’d make it. I really…I really _wanted_ him to make it.” He flashes a sad grin. “Dark, everything…everything is lost in the end, isn’t it? Everything’s a sick joke, isn’t it?”

“Will, enough,” Dark mutters.

Dr. Iplier senses something else aside from Yandere’s condition going through their minds, but he doesn’t know what and he doesn’t ask.

When Yandere’s counter hits one hour, the young figment is hardly breathing at all. He’s horribly pale and so transparent he’s hard to see. He’s not feverish anymore; rather, there’s hardly any warmth left in his skin at all, leaving him as cold as a corpse. There’s no way to keep him warm anymore, though, not when the blanket simply rests on the couch under him, Yandere’s body no longer tangible enough to hold it up. It’s only thanks to the magic imbued in Ego Inc. that Yandere doesn’t sink through the couch as well.

Dr. Iplier remains in the chair by his side, Wilford remains seated on the other couch, and Dark remains standing with his hands clasped behind his back. They’re all thinking the same thing, more or less. They’re all thinking about how Yandere’s barely had two days with them, barely had two days with some semblance of happiness. How he started out alone and spent his first month of existence in an unforgiving city. Were he not Yandere, were he not a figment built on bloodshed and made to kill, no doubt he would’ve died countless times over (or maybe just two or three times, and faded away while his body tried to recover). Even as capable as defending himself as he was, he was still surrounded by people who either didn’t care or hated him outright. For so much of his life, he was alone.

Yandere was right. It isn’t fair.

No one speaks. The silence is so thick that it exerts a force all its own, weighing down on their chests like gravity. It’s as if talking might be physically harder now, like getting the words out will take more strength. And what is there to say, anyhow? Nothing that Yandere can hear. All Dark, Wilford, and Dr. Iplier can do is watch as Yandere begins to stop existing.

Dr. Iplier is still waiting for Yandere’s counter to turn red. It’s as if it’s taunting him now, as if it won’t go red until the very last second just to spite him. And that’s the infuriating thing; the fact that Dr. Iplier’s seen as much happen with patients before. He’s seen time stay blue up until minutes before death, whether that death was illness or accident or old age. But he’s never seen it happen to a figment before. He knows Google and the Host are no doubt still working furiously. Host at least must be conscious of how little time is left, whether Google is or not Dr. Iplier doesn’t know. Either way, he’s sure they’re both still working, still editing and posting and writing and publishing, still trying to make the fans _see_. Dr. Iplier suddenly wonders if the fans might react to the edits and stories too late, if the belated attention might create Yandere anew. Would he be the same? Would he remember his previous life? Dr. Iplier, though, is sure it’s wishful thinking. The figments that go stay gone, and that’s true of every ego he’s watched disappear. Every ego he’s gotten to know. Every ego he has, at least partly, befriended.

He looks at Yandere, and it hurts.

Forty-two minutes and twenty-nine seconds, twenty-eight, twenty-seven, and so on.

With Yandere laying so still he might as well be dead, looking for all the world like a corpse, there’s no movement to draw Dr. Iplier’s eye but Yandere’s time, still steadily ticking down.

Twenty-six, twenty-five, twenty-four seconds.

Dr. Iplier doesn’t turn his head, but his eyes glance towards Wilford. The pink ego’s eyes might be shining with unshed tears, but it’s hard for Dr. Iplier to tell, only looking through his peripherals. He’s not sure he’s ever seen Wilford cry, but he could understand it if he did. It’s laughable how often Dr. Iplier gets attached to dying egos; it was practically inevitable that Yandere’s sorry situation and sweet personality would draw him to care. But not since Bim had Wilford found a friend in another ego so fast, and not since Bim had he stayed with an ego as they faded. But with Yandere’s time ever-shrinking, Dr. Iplier doesn’t expect this to end the same way. His eyes go back to Yandere’s counter.

Twenty-two, twenty-one, twenty seconds.

Now, Dr. Iplier spares a glance towards Dark, eyes going up and to the left to see the shadowy figment standing close by. His expression is unreadable and quiet, but there’s the tightness in him that Dr. Iplier sees every time an ego starts to go. Were Wilford not here, Dark would occasionally close his eyes or look away, would maybe sit instead of stand, might be closer. But Dark is stubborn and ever-acting like there’s something he has to prove, even in front of his oldest friend. Or maybe it’s not that, Dr. Iplier thinks. Maybe Dark is trying to be the stronger one here. He’ll call Dr. Iplier a bleeding-heart as he storms out of a room that once had three egos instead of two, but Dr. Iplier has long ago learned that it’s Dark’s way of keeping away the hurt. Perhaps now he’s trying to keep the hurt away from Wilford, as well. No doubt the only thing that could make Wilford feel worse than he does is seeing Dark react to Yandere’s passing. So Dark holds it down, keeps it in, if only for Wilford’s sake. Dr. Iplier doesn’t want to assume anything, so he lets the whole thing go from his mind as he looks back to Yandere.

Seventeen, sixteen, fifteen seconds.

Dr. Iplier closes his eyes for a long moment, trying to sort out how he feels. He supposes he’s not unlike Dark right now; hiding deep sorrow under calm professionalism. But he’s a _doctor_ , for god’s sake, what else is he to do? It’s his job to stay cool in a crisis, to tune out his thoughts to focus on solving a problem, to ignore personal affects and see the patient as a body to be fixed, but to not be so cold that he stops seeing the patient as a person and stops caring about the outcome. It’s a hard balance to strike even for an experienced doctor, even for a figment that was made to be a doctor. Hell, he was made to give bad news, too. It may make it easier to look someone in the eyes and tell them they’re going to die, but it doesn’t make it any easier to watch the fallout, to watch his bluntness _hurt_ people. Even the ones who don’t get the news are so hard to watch as whatever’s afflicted them takes them over. It’s not easy. It could never be easy. Dr. Iplier would never want to do anything else, never _could_ do anything else, but that doesn’t make it easy. He opens his eyes again.

Forty-six, forty-five, forty-four.

Wait.

Dr. Iplier didn’t have his eyes closed _that_ long. He double-checks the time.

Fifty-three minutes, forty-three seconds and counting.

Dr. Iplier could’ve sworn Yandere had less time than that. He watches closely.

Fifty-three minutes and forty-two seconds, fifty-three minutes and forty-one seconds, fifty-three minutes and forty-seconds.

It’s not unheard of for times to fluctuate. It happens fairly often to both humans and figments alike. But it’s usually more drastic, in bigger spurts.

Fifty-three minutes and thirty-nine seconds, fifty-three minutes and thirty-eight seconds, fifty-three minutes and thirty-seven seconds.

Had he imagined it? But how could he have?

Fifty-three minutes and thirty-six seconds, fifty-nine minutes and—

_Wait._

One hour and three minutes. One hour and fifteen minutes. One hour and thirty-two minutes.

Dr. Iplier’s jaw drops.

“What?” Dark asks, noticing right away. Wilford looks away from Yandere to Dr. Iplier’s shocked expression at Dark’s words.

One hour and fifty-six minutes. Two hours and ten minutes. Two hours and twenty-seven minutes.

“I don’t believe it,” Dr. Iplier gasps.

“What’s going on?” Wilford asks.

Two hours and forty-one minutes. Three hours and seven minutes. Three hours and twenty-two minutes.

“His counter is going up,” murmurs Dr. Iplier, awestruck, “He’s…recovering.”

Dark can’t stop his eyes from widening, and Wilford leaves his seat and strides to join him and the doctor.

“Doctor,” Dark says, voice like steel, “If you’re pulling some sort of trick—”

“Do you really think I’d lie about this??” Dr. Iplier snaps. “His timer was around forty minutes a minute ago, now it’s at three and a half hours and it’s still going.”

Three hours and forty minutes. Four hours and six minutes. Four hours and nineteen minutes.

“Yandere’s…not dying?” Wilford asks, quiet but hopeful.

“He’s not dying,” Dr. Iplier repeats, unable to keep a smile off his face.

And just like that, Yandere’s counter explodes with time. Five hours. Seventeen hours. Three days. Weeks. Months. Too fast for Dr. Iplier’s eyes to keep up. And with it, Yandere’s body begins to change. He becomes more solid as the seconds pass, the flickering slows and stops, his body becomes tangible again. His breathing strengthens and evens out, color flows back into his skin, his temperature returns to normal. He stirs, and the other figments around him can’t help but lean in to look at him closely. His eyes flutter back open, and there’s confusion in them for the briefest of moments before they widen with shock. He grabs at his own arms, looks at his own hands, before looking up and meeting Dr. Iplier’s eyes.

“Ishi-san,” Yandere gasps, “Am I…?”

“You’re okay,” Dr. Iplier says, smiling hard, “You’re not going to die.”

“How long do I have now?” he asks, still in disbelief.

“Years, just like the rest of us.” Dr. Iplier answers. “You’ve made it, Yandere, they remembered you.” He reaches out and squeezes Yandere’s shoulder. “You’re still here, and you’re going to be for a while.”

Yandere’s eyes fill with tears, and his face breaks into a joyful smile as he launches himself into Dr. Iplier’s arms, almost knocking him out of his chair. Dr. Iplier hugs him back anyway, squeezing him tight, remembering how his hand went right through Yandere’s hair earlier today and thinking of how solid and true and _alive_ Yandere is now, and it’s enough to put tears of his own into his eyes.

“I can’t b-believe it,” Yandere half-sobs and half-laughs, “I’m alive, I g-get to _stay_.”

“I can’t believe it either,” Dr. Iplier chuckles, “I don’t believe in miracles, but this is as close to one as you can get.”

“That’s got to be record!” Wilford chimes in, voice as boisterous and bright as it ever was. “I’ll have to get you in for an interview sometime, this’d make one hell of a story!” He reaches out a hand and ruffles up Yandere’s hair, making the younger ego laugh.

“Looks like you’ll be needing your own room, now that we know you’re here for good,” Dark muses from the side. His expression is as impassive as ever, but his face is relaxed, body loose, shoulders imperceptibly sagging with relief. Upon hearing his voice, Yandere startles and pulls away from Dr. Iplier, fidgeting with his skirt as he looks up at Dark.

“Um, _hai,_ I guess so,” he says, cheeks slightly reddening.

“I’ll be taking care of that, and I’ll let Google and the Host know that they’ve succeeded in keeping you around,” Dark continues, “Welcome back to the world of the living, Yandere.” He gives Yandere a smooth grin. He figures he’s earned it.

Yandere’s blush deepens and spreads across his cheeks, and he nods, unable to reply as Dark teleports away.

“Dramatic, much?” Wilford scoffs. “‘Welcome to the world of the living,’ psh.”

“You’re one to talk, Wilford,” Dr. Iplier says wryly.

“Who, me? Dramatic?” Wilford gasps, affronted. “I am not _nearly_ as dramatic as that edgelord is.”

“But you admit you’re dramatic,” Dr. Iplier points out, grinning.

“I see you twisting my words,” Wilford mutters, eyes narrowing, “And I don’t much care for it.”

“You mean you “hear me” twisting them?”

“Now listen here—”

The two continue their bickering, and Yandere giggles as he listens. He has a feeling he’ll be seeing a lot more of that. He realizes he’ll be seeing a lot more of _everything_. There’s so much of Ego Inc. he hasn’t seen, so many egos he hasn’t met, so much he has yet to do, so much he has yet to learn. The world, this world, _his_ world is finally open to him after a month of struggle, and he’s got the rest of his life to enjoy it.

After being alive for a month, his life is finally beginning.

~~~

~~~

~~~

“Aka-kun, where are we going?”

“I can’t _tell_ you, Yandere. That’s the entire point.”

“Can I open my eyes at least?”

“No. We have to get there first.”

“Don’t sound so annoyed, Aka-kun!”

“I _am_ annoyed. Hence why I sound like it. You slow down every time you start talking; we’d be there already if you were quiet.”

“So mean! You’re always so tsundere.”

“Quit calling me that!”

“But you are!”

Despite the good-natured bickering, Yandere thinks he already has an idea of where Chrome is taking him. It’s November 13th, after all; the day he came into existence, and it’s already afternoon and he hasn’t yet gotten any birthday well-wishes. But Yandere isn’t stupid; he has no doubt that Chrome is taking him to his birthday celebration. He plays along, though, because he truly has no idea what the celebration will entail.

As it turns out, the celebration entails red and black streamers and balloons strewn about Wilford’s studio, a big cake, and every single ego gathered to shout “Happy birthday!” as Chrome tells Yandere to open his eyes.

Yandere bounces around for a while, flitting from person to person to talk. There generally aren’t a lot of party games at ego birthday parties; it’s more or less an opportunity for everyone to gather, to have an excuse to talk to people they haven’t in a while. Not that Yandere minds; though he has people he’s particularly close to, it’s nice to catch up with everyone else.

“Happy birthday, you,” says Dr. Iplier with a smile and a hug, “Maybe try to stay out of trouble this year? It feels like I see you every other day with all the fights you get into.”

Even if Dr. Iplier and Yandere don’t exactly hang out with each other, Yandere still considers him a friend, and he knows Dr. Iplier feels the same about him. He sees him often enough, after all; one of Yandere’s chief sources of entertainment is wandering into seedy parts of Los Angeles and repaying the pain the city gave him as a new figment tenfold. He ends up in Dr. Iplier’s clinic fairly often as a result.

“I can’t make any promises, Ishi-san!” Yandere giggles as he hugs back. Dr. Iplier shakes his head with fond exasperation as he pulls away.

“Well, in that case,” Dr. Iplier says, “There _might_ be a strawberry lollipop waiting for you next time you come in.” He winks. “I recall you really liking strawberry.”

“I do, thanks!” Yandere replies. He spends a moment wondering if it’s worth getting injured in a fight to get a lollipop afterwards before the Host walks up to stand alongside Dr. Iplier.

Those two days in the Host’s library at the beginning of Yandere’s life not only turned the young ego into a bookworm, but made him fall in love with the library completely. Whenever things go wrong it’s the place he feels the safest, and whenever there’s something he feels he can’t tell anyone, he can tell it to the Host. Yandere is fairly certain that he likes Host more than Host likes him, but Host still likes him well enough, as evidenced by him taking a moment to greet Yandere.

“Happy birthday, Yandere,” he says, “The Host suggests that you take a look in the manga section of his library sometime soon.”

“Really?” Yandere asks, excitement in his voice.

“You never know,” Host says, “There might be something new.” He gives a tiny, teasing smile.

“Thank you, Katarite-san!” Yandere says. He refrains from hugging Host, but hopes his smile is enough to show his thanks.

If Yandere is being honest, he hadn’t expected anything from Dr. Iplier or the Host at all for his birthday. There’s so many egos in the building (and so few with money) that egos only get birthday gifts for the people they’re closest to. Yandere already knows this from experiencing the birthdays of other egos (hell, Wilford’s birthday was just a few days ago, now _that_ had been a party), and he has to admit that he’s been looking forward to the presents more than anything else. He is a teenager, after all.

So he’s excited when Chrome approaches him with an object, something small and rectangular and red. He holds it out to Yandere while looking away, embarrassed to be giving it. Chrome’s bad at emotions that aren’t anger and frustration, but Yandere knows this well enough by now. He befriended Chrome almost by force not long after he appeared, and even if Chrome is bad at showing it, Yandere knows that the android considers him a friend.

“This is for you,” Chrome says, awkward.

Yandere takes the object from him, and quickly realizes by the familiar logo on the front that it’s a Pokédex, shiny and brand new.

“Woah!” he says, turning it over in his hands, “I’ve always wanted one of these!”

“Open it,” Chrome says, finally able to look at Yandere.

Yandere flips it open, and the screen flickers to life. It beeps a musical tone before a menu displays, showing different ways to organize the Pokémon inside it, whether by number, region, type, or more.

“It’s got every Pokémon on it, including the new Alola ones,” Chrome says, “Go ahead and select one.”

Yandere taps the button to organize the Pokémon by number, and taps the entry for Bulbasaur. He startles when a holographic display pops up, and before him in the air sits a Bulbasaur. Fully three-dimensional and about the size of Yandere’s head, the creature slowly rotates around, occasionally blinking and opening its mouth in a goofy smile. Yandere gapes at it, completely awestruck.

“There’s a display like that for all of them,” Chrome explains, “They’re all about that size, so it’s not to scale, but—”

“Aka-kun,” Yandere breathes, eyes wide, “Did you _make_ this?”

“Y-Yeah,” Chrome mutters, looking away again, “Don’t look at me like that, it’s not a big deal. It wasn’t even that much work.”

Plus, who happens to be walking by at that moment, frowns at Chrome’s words.

“That’s objectively incorrect,” he says without stopping his stride, “You spent a month making that thing.”

“ _Plus,_ ” Chrome hisses, but Plus has already walked away. Yandere stifles a giggle.

“It’s amazing, Aka-kun!” he exclaims, marveling at the Bulbasaur a second more before shutting the Pokedex, making the creature disappear. He jumps forward and hugs Chrome, who stiffens but lets it happen. “Thank you,” Yandere says, smiling up at Chrome. Chrome’s cheeks go slightly red, and he relaxes just a little. He pats Yandere’s back, as awkward as ever, but he manages a lopsided smile.

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” he replies, fondness warm in his tone.

After parting with Chrome, Yandere walks around the room, looking for two people in particular and expecting to find them together. Sure enough, at one end of the studio near the costume racks are Dark and Wilford, having a conversation. Yandere is happy to see that they look the way they do when they’re getting along; Dark quietly amused and Wilford energetic and loud. They both notice Yandere as he approaches, and Wilford grins at him so hard his moustache wiggles. Dark’s expression might seem unchanged to most, but Yandere knows him well enough to see the warmth in his gaze and the slight upturn in his lips, and Yandere’s heart flutters.

“Enjoying your birthday, love?” Dark asks.

“Yeah!” Yandere says, holding out his Pokédex, “Check out what Chrome made me!” He opens it and the machine throws up the Bulbasaur again for Dark and Wilford to look at.

“Woah,” Wilford whistles, clearly impressed, “I’ll have to see if I can get him to make me one, too!”

“It is…interesting,” Dark says, disinterested tone hiding genuine surprise. Yandere almost giggles.

“Sure puts my gift to shame,” Wilford chuckles.

“Aw, Wil, I’m sure it doesn’t!” Yandere exclaims, shutting the Pokédex and tucking it away to nowhere the way only an anime character can, “At least let me see it before you make that judgement!”

“Fine, I guess,” Wilford sighs, dramatic and teasing, “I suppose I can give you your birthday present. I didn’t wrap it though, because, well…” Wilford holds out a hand to the side, and there’s a puff of pink smoke as something appears there. “…It’d probably be a bit more trouble than it’s worth.”

The object in Wilford’s hand is a sword, and just from the look of it Yandere can tell it’s ancient, hand guard worn and metal lackluster from centuries of enduring the elements. Not only that, it’s _huge,_ nearly as long as Yandere is tall. How Wilford can hold it in one hand is a mystery, but Yandere doesn’t much care about that, too busy gaping at the weapon to really notice. Dark is staring at it, too, though he’s decidedly less impressed.

“Wilford, exactly how did you get that?” Dark asks.

“Stole it from a museum,” Wilford answers proudly, “Took a lot of magic to get the police off my back afterwards, but it was worth it.” He wiggles his moustache at Yandere as Dark sighs. “You like it?” He holds it out for Yandere to take.

“It’s so _cool!_ ” Yandere exclaims, hefting up the sword in both hands. Its size and age make it completely impractical for combat, but Yandere knows it’ll look amazing on the wall of his dojo. “Thank you, onii-san!!” He throws his arms around Wilford’s neck, somehow managing not to cut off his arm in the process. Wilford laughs and hugs back, unperturbed by the giant sword swinging around in Yandere’s careless grasp.

“No problem, kiddo!” Wilford chuckles, giving Yandere a squeeze before pulling away.

“I’d say it’s somewhat of a problem,” Dark points out, derisive, “Considering what you had to do to get that thing.”

“C’mon, Darky, quit being a party pooper!” Wilford sighs, “It’s not like I led the cops back here or anything. Besides,” he adds, pointing at Yandere, who continues to admire his gift, “Would you rather me take it from Yan and put it back where I found it?”

Dark looks like he’s almost tempted to say yes, but Yandere looks toward him with the saddest eyes and biggest pout he can muster. After a long moment, Dark gives in.

“No,” he mutters, and Yandere stifles a giggle. Not even Dark’s coldness and power can stop him from being affected by Yandere’s puppy-dog eyes.

“Well, in that case,” Wilford says, satisfied at having won the argument, “I’m gonna go make sure no one breaks anything in here.” He frowns. “I caught Bing trying to skateboard on the end of the stage earlier.”

“You break things all the time, Wil,” Dark points out, not unkindly, as Wilford walks away.

“That’s different!” he insists without looking back.

Yandere laughs, but he thinks Wilford likely has another reason for leaving as well: To let Yandere and Dark be alone. Or maybe three reasons: Wilford has no tolerance for romance and PDA. Really, he probably left more to save himself from witnessing it than to give Yandere and Dark some privacy. Still, Yandere appreciates it all the same.

“Yami,” Yandere begins as he puts his sword away the same way he did the Pokédex, “You weren’t _really_ gonna make Wilford put the sword back, were you?”

“No,” Dark admits, “I simply don’t wish for him to be stealing things from humans whenever he pleases.”

“Threats don’t really work on him,” Yandere points out.

“Don’t I know it,” Dark sighs, shaking his head. Yandere laughs and walks up to Dark, stopping just in front of him.

“Yami,” Yandere says, cutely rocking back and forth on his heels, “Did _you_ get me anything for birthday?”

“Greedy, aren’t we?” Dark replies, but he smiles, fond and teasing, as he pulls out a small package from behind his back. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Yandere,” he adds.

Yandere blushes at the compliment even as he takes the box. It’s rectangular, small and nearly flat, pure white and wrapped with a deep black ribbon tied in an elegant bow. It’s so pretty as it is that Yandere almost doesn’t want to open it. Almost. He unties the ribbon and pulls the lid off the box, and nearly falls over at what’s inside.

It’s a necklace, the prettiest one Yandere’s ever seen. The chain is silver, delicate and so shiny it nearly looks platinum, tiny links leading down and meeting at a heart-shaped topaz jewel, blindingly orange against its silver setting. Yandere spends a long moment just staring at it, amazed.

“Yami, it’s incredible,” Yandere gasps, “How did you even get this?”

“A kind soul…” Dark chooses his next word carefully. “…offered to pay for it.”

Yandere can imagine what that means. He lets out a breathy giggle, too astonished for a true laugh.

“I have to try it on!” he exclaims suddenly, “There’s a mirror here somewhere…”

Dark chuckles and follows Yandere as he darts away in search of a mirror. It’s fortunate that Yandere and Dark are already near the costume racks, for within sight of them is a full-length, trifold mirror. Yandere finds it quickly and pulls the necklace out of its box, and he’s just undone the clasp when Dark comes up behind him.

“Allow me,” he says, breath ruffling Yandere’s hair, and Yandere can hardly refuse.

His cheeks are pink as he hands off the ends of the necklace to Dark, who gently pulls them around Yandere’s neck and fastens the clasp. Yandere stares at himself at the mirror, stares at the way the silver chain slopes down, stares at the topaz heart resting just below his throat. He finds himself bringing up a finger to touch the chain, as if making sure the necklace isn’t simply part of his imagination. Tears spring to his eyes as Dark loops his arms around Yandere’s waist, looking at Yandere’s expression in the mirror.

“Do you like it, love?” he asks, unable to keep a smile off his face.

“I love it,” Yandere whispers, “It’s beautiful.” He turns around in Dark’s arms to face him. “Thank you.”

Dark lifts a hand to Yandere’s cheek, thumb brushing away the tear that sneaks out from Yandere’s wet eyes.

“Anything for you, darling,” he murmurs, pulling Yandere close to kiss him. Yandere kisses back, wrapping his arms around Dark’s neck, fingers curling into his jacket.

As they kiss, Yandere can’t help but think back to where he was a year ago. How he’d been alone in the middle of a city that didn’t care, without a clue where he belonged. He never would’ve imagined that he’d be where he is now, that’d he’d have a place to call a home, surrounded by friends and wrapped up in his senpai’s arms.

And to think, this is only Yandere’s first birthday. He can only imagine where he’ll be in another year’s time, but if it’s anything like where he is now, he’ll be perfectly content.

Dark pulls away from the kiss to rest his forehead against Yandere’s, still holding him close, looking down at him with loving, gentle eyes. Yandere smiles at him, cheeks dusted pink, and Dark can’t help but smile in return.

“I’m glad you’re here, my dearest one,” he murmurs, voice impossibly soft.

Yandere beams, eyes glimmering like two stars.

“ _Arigatou,_ ” he whispers, leaning forward to kiss Dark again, “Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> "Wow, that's really sappy."  
> -My roommate who isn't into Markiplier after I told her about the ending of this fic
> 
> The secret's out; violent heart-wrenching angst is not the only thing I derive pleasure from. I do, in fact, enjoy happiness and love. So sue me, Yan deserves a good birthday.
> 
> Also, if you haven't Google translated the title by now, it means "Humble Beginnings." Who knew cliches sounded so good in Japanese?
> 
> Please leave a comment if you liked it! Fic comments are my main life source atm. Even if you didn't like it, thank you for reading!


End file.
